


as fire to the sun

by flan (bitehard)



Series: simple behaviours [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: CT-7567 | Rex Needs a Hug, Dehumanization, Force-Sensitive CT-7565 | Rex, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panic Attacks, Post-Umbara Arc (Star Wars), Power Imbalance, Unhealthy Relationships, but it will have to make do, sex is not a healthy coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28895331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitehard/pseuds/flan
Summary: There is nothing written, there is nothing to say. The Battle of Umbara and all its hateful moments are over and done.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Anakin Skywalker
Series: simple behaviours [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114187
Comments: 10
Kudos: 64





	as fire to the sun

**Author's Note:**

> title from drawn to the blood by sufjan stevens, the anakinest song to ever anakin. 
> 
> thanks to [earwen_neruda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earwen_neruda/) for the betaing and the music.
> 
> about the **panic attack tag** : is there mostly to be safe. there is a point in which rex is _near_ having one, but it isn't described nor talked about in detail. 
> 
> this can be read as standalone, although it's in a series.

It’s the easiest secret to keep in the history of secrets.Once it’s already talked about, no one there besides Rex and Cody and Kenobi, it’s like it never happened. The jedi don’t talk about it, because it’s shameful. The clones that were there don’t talk about it because it just hurts too much. There is nothing written, there is nothing to say. The Battle of Umbara and all its hateful moments are over and done. 

Of course, Rex is ok with that. He wishes he could put something in his brain and forget it. 

He can’t. 

During the next few days, Rex tries everything in his power to act as if nothing has changed. The long sessions with general Kenobi about it were draining, and even if he guessed there would be no problem for him or Dogma, the possibility or being, well, _decommissioned_ went through his head like a storm. 

A dead jedi. A discreet funeral and no information. No one outside their battalions knows exactly what happened. The Council, apparently, thinks it could be worse for the morale of the army. While rex thinks that is true and that no one’s mind would be put to rest by talking around what happened, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Skywalker is looking at him again. It’s been like that since he came back.

He tries to ignore it, at first, but there is something unsettling in the way he analyzes him, like Rex is going to... 

Kark him. Rex is a soldier, he is not going to _break._

He is not happy, of course, how could he be? They lost so much, so _many_ of his brothers, but it wouldn’t have been so… discouraging if it just had been a loss in the battlefield. Maybe death isn’t the desirable outcome, but it’s what a soldier can expect and they have been made for it, _bred_ for it. There is honor in death, or so Rex thinks. Thought, maybe. There was no honor in Umbara. There was an unpleasant feeling of not being enough, not worthy of a second look, and he thinks about Hardcase and Waxer and all the others and, they have been lucky, haven’t they? 

Even if it doesn’t matter anymore, Rex has been looking into the records, as Fives told him. The jedi will know because they keep track of what he and his brothers look for in the files, but he isn’t able to muster the ability to care. Hundreds of clones have died under Pong Krell’s orders, and Rex tries to check the numbers, their names, if they are filed beside the CT or the CC number. He usually doesn’t care about having that number, himself, he doesn’t even hate it, but now he sees it for what it is.

He doesn’t want to keep fighting, for a day, at least. The man is dead, and no one can prove what they all know except the jedi. Skywalker and Kenobi believe them, of course, but he has already seen that look in their eyes: it’s not worth it to escalate this more than it has already been. 

He thinks that another jedi’s death would be worth it, another civil’s death would be worth it. Just not theirs. Not Hardcase’s, who always was able to make them laugh and was always daring and rising to the bait and.

How many brothers have they already lost? How many like Pong Krell he doesn’t know about. 

It’s one thing to be raised as a soldier, a very different one to be raised as expendable. The bad taste in his mouth turns metallic; Rex has been biting his lip to the point of bruising. He doesn’t care.

There is comfort in the fact that only the living bleed.

The general is looking at him again, and Rex wants to shake him. Because there is something in that look, the one that says _what, Rex, what can I do, what can I do to make this better_ and Rex usually has the answer. He takes pride in being a good captain for Skywalker, he takes pride even if sometimes he knows he toes over the line between the personal and the militar, but they _work_ together and… Maybe Skywalker is not perfect, but it’s nice with him and he has never make him feel like today: like a worn-out ghost of what it is to be a person. He doesn’t touch him, doesn’t give any external indications that he wants to, but. Oh, Force, Rex sometimes thinks he can _feel_ what he feels, like something is being written right into his brain. 

It must be some Jedi stuff he doesn’t really get, he thinks, but if there is one thing his brothers don’t talk much about it’s that. Cody could be his best bet; he has been under Kenobi’s orders almost as long as him under Skywalker’s, and yet he doesn’t ask. He wouldn’t know how to start that conversation; he talks about many things with Cody but this is...

Maybe those are just excuses. Maybe he wants to have something special for himself, something that no one knows, not even Cody. Something secret; and he knows the feeling is not _right_ because he shouldn’t want it, but, kark what he shouldn’t have. His mind is his; his feelings are his, and it shouldn’t matter as long as he is able to fight, and _he is_. Despite everything, he will always have that. 

Another feeling, and he looks back and Skywalker is there, predictably. 

“General”.

“Rex. Uh.”

Rex raises his eyebrows. 

“Are you… are you ok?”, he says, awkward, and Rex has to laugh because, really. The first thing Skywalker asks him that is not about the war the last few days and it’s something as obvious as that. If Rex were someone else, maybe he would snap at him, finally. If Rex were Hardcase, or Fives, he would. He thinks about saying something, about trying to make him understand, but he knows is useless. A Jedi would never understand. 

His first mistake is to look at Skywalker in the eye. He hates those eyes, which at this point he can read as easy as if he spoke everything aloud, and that has nothing to do with the Force. So much time spent looking at all the tell-tales in his body, his face, the twitch of his lips, the way his brows go up and down and seem to have a language just by themselves. 

A pang of guilt, he forces himself to swallows it down. It’s not fair to him, but it isn’t fair to Rex, either.

“I’m fine, general”, it’s his answer, but even to his own ears his voice sounds fake, too militar in the soft intimacy of his quarters. 

The silence stretches and it’s not a good one. Rex knows the general is not happy, he spreads his feelings through the room like a wave. Skywalker likes to fix things, and Rex doesn’t know how to tell him that some things can’t be fixed, because some things are rotten before they even were conceived. He takes a step towards him and his presence is almost poisoning, sometimes Rex cannot stand how he does it, how enters a room and everyone in it knows it’s him. 

Just the opposite of Rex, who has mastered the ability to stay on the background until he is needed. Like a ghost. 

He cannot stand it. Not now. Not today. 

“Do you need something, general?” he says, and it’s even colder, detached. He modulates his voice until its inflection dissappears, he feels bad, but if he would let it all out, i’d be much worse.

Skywalker looks at him for long seconds and Rex can see how his brain is working, pondering if it’s best to press the matter. The thing is, it would work, if he talked to him right now. His anger may recede, and his frustration, but Rex doesn’t want to, and thinks _please_ he thinks _please let me have this_. He needs something to remember he is…

He is someone.

“No, it’s ok, Rex”, the general says, and Rex has almost forgotten what was the question. “You may rest, we won’t be arriving for some time. If you need something, you know where I am”. 

He turns and goes to the door to leave the room. “Sir?”, Rex calls, before he can even think it.

The general answers without looking back, “Yeah?”.

“Thank you”. 

Skywalker nods, doesn’t answer, and leaves his room. Rex sits on the bed, defeated. 

By the time the mission ends, Rex thinks he is feeling at least marginally better. Maybe it’s fate giving him a break for once and the mission has been almost… relaxing. Not easy, they never are, but he’ve had to just do his job, and that felt nice. 

Maybe it’s just that after Umbara everything seems disjointed, like it doesn’t hold the same weight, not in his mind, not in his hands. They feel different, _he_ feels different, an apathy he hasn’t suffered once in his, albeit short, life. There is a prickling sensation at the nape of his neck, and looks back only to see Skywalker’s eyes fixed on him, as if he were a puzzle he can’t solve. Rex is not a puzzle, and cannot be solved, but that won’t stop his general, apparently.

There is too much distance between them to talk, and yet Rex feels it in his brain, a question, a need to know, _what can I do what can I do_ and Rex thinks back at it, _I don’t know_ , and frustration rises and he is going to _snap_ and...

“Rex. Rex!”

Fives is in his face, invading his space, moving his hand before his eyes. 

“What?”

“Dunno where you were, but it was not here, brother. Are you ok?”

That’s the question, and it’s not one Rex can answer, so he straights up and says “Yes” and nods, “of course”. 

The feeling is still there, inside his head.

There is a list of things Rex should do. He should ask, _straight up ask_ what the hell is going on. There is so little they tell him and his brothers about the Force and the jedis, and he gets it, because they just have to know what’s needed for their job. That is enough to tell Rex what he feels is not normal. He should ask Skywalker, or Kenobi, or someone. He doesn’t. 

Rex can’t sleep. He is alone in the shuttle’s quarters, for a change; Cody and Kenobi will be down with them tomorrow. Insomnia hasn’t been one of his problems but it seems to have decided to add itself to the party. Too many nightmares, and they are not the first type since the war started but these are so _real_ he wakes up trembling and sick and _afraid_. 

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams about taking out the helmet to that clone in Umbara and, when he lifts it, its his own face. Not _the same_ face: his own, the small differences only clones can see clear as day, the wrinkle between his brows that no one else has, his hair. 

He wakes up, curses, wipes the tears on the edge of his eyes.

He stands up, does some sit-ups, some push ups, but even after he is sweaty and tired he still feels wired and restless. His head is a mess. He steps into the fresher and tries to enjoy the hot water, to think about nothing, for a moment. He tries to forget everything, Umbara, and the faces of his brothers, and all the deaths. Hot water dripping from his shoulders and unknotting his muscles and he lets out a sound that is almost a moan. He wants to cry, because he hasn’t even had the luxury of crying for his brothers, for Hardcase and Waxer and for all the others and for the ones he hasn’t known and for the ones that could still be born. Not even born, _made_ , and it hurts and it’s difficult to breathe under the water and he thinks, _who will have the time to cry for me when I die_.

Because how could he forget Umbara. How could he forget his own face.

Skywalker is there when he goes out. He doesn’t say anything, for a minute, but Rex knows it’s not going to last. 

“I’m sorry”, he says, and it’s not what Rex was expecting. A sigh. A conversation he doesn’t want to have.

“You are not responsible for all the jedi”, and Rex sees how Skywalker grinds his teeth. 

“I should’t have left him with you. I should’ve known, the numbers don’t lie. You’ve also been checking them”. 

Rex nods.

“General…”

“We should have. The numbers were too high”.

“It doesn’t matter anymore”, Rex says, even if it does. Who cares. Not the council, who hasn’t even done a proper investigation. They don’t even know who killed Krell, for all that it matters. Rex wanted to say it have been him, just to spare Dogma more suffering.

Skywalker looks at him, and he knows. 

There is a pulse coming from Skywalker. Anger, rage, on his behalf. Something close to pity, under that, and Rex can’t stand it. 

“It _matters_. I shoul’ve, I failed and I should have…” 

Rex cannot stand it, he just wants to sulk in peace and doesn’t need the general making everything about him now. Desperation gets the best of him and he gets closer, takes his arm and squeezes.

“Please, general”, because he cannot say what he wants, which is _please shut the kark up_.

It’s too late when he realizes how close they are. Too late to not feel the spike in his heart rate when Skywalker looks at him from that distance, his eyes just this side of freezing blue and Rex thinks.

He repeats it, “Please”, but he is not sure what he is pleading for anymore. _Please shut up_ or _please shut me up_ or _please, please, remind me I’m someone_. Skywalker doesn’t do anything, though, just stays there, looking at him, licking his lips, breathing harder than he should. It takes Rex more time than it should to understand, he is waiting, but waiting for what. 

“Rex”, he says, “Rex, what do you want?” and it strikes him that he is giving him an option. His arm is relaxed under Rex’s fingers, his pulse rising and pupils dilating. Anakin wants, but that’s always been them. Anakin wanting, Rex giving, and now…

There is a path before him, and Rex thinks about it. There always have been a path, as a soldier, as a clone, as a brother. Anakin is there, now, offering something else, and Rex knows he will never be his equal. He will always be a jedi, and Rex will always be a clone, but he is no droid. He is no programmed. He can do whatever he wants, and if he defends the republic is because, deep within himself, there is the believe that they are the good guys. Anakin is. 

Rex tightens his grip, and Anakin’s mouth opens just enough that Rex can see the tip of his tongue, the white of his teeth. 

He doesn’t need Anakin to remind him of anything. He has himself. 

His other hand climbs around his arm, then shoulder and waits, for a minute, under his jaw. He doesn’t need to ask if he is sure, because he knows, because he has done everything with Anakin, killing and sleeping and eating and saving people. He kisses him not in a whim, not like the first time he touched him, aware that it was wrong and excusing himself with “he needs me”. He kisses him knowingly, not caring about anything else at all, as if they actually just were two men and not a clone and not a jedi and not people with the weight of the galaxy on their shoulders. He kisses him, and Anakin lets out a sound against his tongue that makes Rex weep for all the times he jerked him off without hearing it. 

He pushes him agains the wall, soft but firm and he lets him, pliant; Rex bites Anakin’s lips and jaw and neck and Anakin just takes him and caresses his nape, the short hair just cropped tickling him with each movement of his fingers. 

_What do you want, Rex_ , he had asked. 

Rex won’t say the answer aloud, lest he breaks the precarious truce they are in, but he wants, and for once he is going to do something about it. 

There is no place for resentment in his head, for all the other times. They were different, and the control that Anakin wielded there came from another place. 

Anakin is letting him do and Rex is doing and this has nothing to do with Anakin just _neeeding_ but is also Anakin _wanting_ and that’s a whole different set up for both of them. He is pliant against Rex’s hands, but not still, he kisses him back and bites his lips and it hurts because they are still bruised by his own anxiety but he doesn’t care. 

There is comfort in the fact that only the living hurt, too.

They have been kissing for minutes, now, and Rex could spend hours just listening to the small sounds that leave Anakin’s lips sometimes.

He pushes with his hips and the adrenaline rush when he discovers Anakin is hard too makes him grunt. He raises his hand to the nape of his neck and tangles his fingers in the hair there and, on an impulse, he pulls. Anakin sighs, head raised and the temptation of his neck is just too much for Rex. He goes down from his jaw until he can bite the tender flesh beside the clavicles and Anakin says, “Rex”, his name, once and then again and then a question unspoken, a feeling straight to his mind that Rex translates as “what do you want” and Rex wants _a lot_ of things but mostly he wants Anakin taking them. 

“I want to see your face”, he says.

Anakin laughs, bitchy.

“And what are you looking at right now, then?”

Rex licks his own lips, smiles, and watches Anakin’s eyes darken even more. He moves his other hand, still pining him to the wall by not letting go of his hair and doesn’t need more than a couple of tries to sneak his hand into his robes and under them, the flesh so hot Anakin squirms agains his much colder fingers. 

“Shh, stop”, says Rex, enthralled when he obeys. He pushes the palm of his hand agains his cock and Anakin looks at him, defying, the laugh behind the lust in his eyes. “Move”.

“What is the magic word?”, says Anakin, even if Rex knows he is doing a huge effort not to fuck agains his hand. 

Rex smiles, his own cock twitching.

“Move, _now_.” 

Anakin laughs and then moans when he actually does move. He is entirelly at his mercy and as much as they try they cannot forget that Anakin would win any fight between them but that is what is making this… this. Anakin has all to control (the power, the Force, the privilege) and yet decides that here and now is Rex who controls the pace. 

He shushes a little and makes him go slower, takes his hand out for a second and thinks about licking his palm, even if it’s not strictly necessary; he just likes listening to Anakin’s whimper when he makes him stay still. Mouth open, eyes half closed, and it gives Rex an idea. 

“Help me a little?” he says, and puts the palm just before Anakin’s mouth. He looks at him like that, and Rex thinks for a second he may be overdoing it, but he has stepped over so many lines today that he doesn’t get the need for lines anymore. He can take a little for himself, for a day. 

Anakin pulls his tongue out and, when Rex finishes wetting his palm, there is a second of hesitation as he taps the tip of his fingers against Anakin’s lips. One, two beats, and the karking jedi takes the hint, gets the finger into his mouth and _sucks_. A whimper dies in Rex’s throat, he feels like he’s gonna burst for a second.

The strategy needs changing, and he is not going to get his fingers out unless there is a galaxy-level threat so he releases his hair and takes him again, spreading the pre-cum that is already leaking from the tip. He tries and successes giving it a rhythm, jerking him off at the same time he makes the motion of thrusting his fingers into his mouth. There is spit on his chin and Rex licks it, shoving his tongue in too. Anakin doesn’t try anything, he just keeps plastered against the wall, hands at his sides, and Rex knows, because of course he knows, the moment he is going to come, jerks him a couple of times more and…

And stops. Anakin jerks his hips into nothingness, and Rex would laugh but he feels a rush of adrenaline he has only felt a couple of times before, mostly in a stunt by Anakin himself.

“Rex, fuck, _Rex_ ”, and it says a lot that he is cursing like that. He would like to say it’s revenge, for all the times he went to sleep hard and needy, but it’s nothing like that. It’s just. The general has given him something, today, control, he has given him the illusion of agency even if Rex knows this doesn’t change anything. This doesn’t change that out there no one is going to know Krell was a traitor. No one is going to think different of him outside this chamber, but Anakin is aware of that too. He isn’t trying to say “we could make things change”, because it’s just not true. The jedi are not going to win the war without the clones, and the clones are nothing without the purpose of the war, and no one, not Anakin, not Rex, not Dogma and his guilt, is going to change that. 

He is not saying that. He is saying, _just take something for yourself_. And it’s not enough, and it doesn’t help in the long run but Force if he doesn’t help him today. 

It’s his. It’s no one else’s, this secret, this place, this second. Anakin, too, panting before him, still not trying to touch himself, just saying his name, Rex, with his voice and screaming into his mind, Rex, _please_ , and he takes his fingers out and kisses him and swallows his moans and his need and feels like _someone_ , just. Someone, for a night. 

_I will follow you to the end of the galaxy_ , he thinks.

Anakin starts breathing a little better, the frustration of the denied orgasm going down, and then Rex talks, makes Anakin look him in the eye. 

“Do you want to know what I want?”

The smile on Anakin’s face is fierce, face flushed and lips red. Too pretty for his own good.

“Yeah. Yeah, kark. Tell me, Rex. Just… just tell me anything”, and isn’t he pretty like that, all the defiance gone and substituted with compliance. Rex thinks, because he wants a lot, but everything boils down to a very simple thing. 

“Touch me. I want to see your face.”, he says, and Anakin sobers up for a second, and Rex knows, and doesn’t need any freaky connection with Anakin to understand whay he is doing in his head. They have done a lot of stuff but not this: not Anakin touching him under the light, those blue, pretty eyes. Not Anakin looking at his face while his hand sneaks between his clothes until he takes him and, with more hesitation than he would have expected, he starts moving. Rex pants, because it’s been too karking long since someone other than himself touched him. He had forgotten how good it felt, the tentative movements until they know what he likes. 

He kisses him, again, and takes him in his own hand, because he is strong but not that much, and Anakin sighs agains his lips, spurting precum on his fingers; Rex just relaxes his hand and lets Anakin fuck himself into it, enjoying the feeling of his smooth palm. 

“Just tell me if—”, Anakin starts, but Rex stops him.

“It’s perfect. I’m close, I’m very close. You, too”, he says, and its not a question. 

“You know it. Yes. Yes, yes, please, let me—”

“Yeah, I’ll let you, come on”, he says, and squeezes as he himself is getting close to coming, and keeps talking, unable to think, unable to care about what he should or shouldn’t say “come on, come on, come on, _Anakin_ ”, and Anakin curses and moans and comes and Rex watches him, maybe for the first time, and he is _beautiful_ , all open mouth and eyelids fluttering and Rex thinks, on the verge of his own orgasm “I would like to come all over your face”.

Only, judging by the half-shock half-curiosity in Anakin’s face, he has not thought it, but spurted it aloud. 

“So _that_ is what you want?”, Anakin says, and Rex knows he shouldn’t but he is so hard and Anakin’s face it’s just too pretty after he comes.

To the end of the galaxy and back. 

“Yeah. Yeah it is”, and it’s Rex’s time to be shocked when Anakin slides down the wall and drops to his knees.

“Well, have at it”. 

Kriffing jedi. 

Rex doesn’t wait nor ask for confirmation. He takes himself in hand and pumps hard, and fast, looking at his eyes, his lips, the tip of his tongue when he takes it out, a nagging sensation in his brain, come on, Rex, and comes with a grunt, smearing the hot white liquid over Anakin’s lips. A little enters them and the forcedamned jedi tastes it with his tongue. Rex goes to grab a towel and gives it to him before he asks, now that it’s over, there is a mix of embarrasment and something else, not exactly regret, but he knows he has no excuse for this, not even one regarding Skywalker.

“Well”, the general says, already standing up. “That was _not_ what I had in mind when I came here”. 

Rex laughs. There is a lot coming from Skywalker. Excitement, and fondness, and even if Rex knows it’s coming from a good place, there is also pity. For what he is, for what Rex will never be. It stings a little, anyway. 

“By the way, Obi-Wan called. They are coming down to the shuttle” .

Panic rises in his stomach. 

“When?”

Skywalker shrugs. “There is time yet. I think?”

Rex looks at himself, then at Skywalker. 

“You should’ve said something!”, he says, goes to the fresher again ignoring Skywalkers laugh.

Rex knows, he has always known what his place is, but it had been good to pretend for a minute. The magic is gone, though, and even before he leaves the room they are back to what they are; the same way a general will always be above a captain, a jedi will be above a clone. 

At least, Rex thinks, when they have left the shuttle and are listening to general Kenobi about the details of the mission, at least he’s lucky enough to have been assigned a good one. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm **youbitehard** at tumblr o/


End file.
